


I Wonder What Comes Next, And Whether This Or This Will Be The End

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Loss, Memories, change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>God had fled last December, taking the love and light of his life with him.  God could go to Hell.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wonder What Comes Next, And Whether This Or This Will Be The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to paperscribe for beta. I own all errors, goofs, and mistakes. They are all I own.

 

* * *

 

 

Robbie sat cross-legged in the middle of the unmade bed.  Around him, flattened boxes waited to be converted into storage and packing space.  Papers were spread on the bundled duvet in front of him.  It was too overwhelming.  He should have taken Lyn up on her offer to help with the packing, but he couldn’t drag her into his personal abyss.  It wasn’t quite Hell.  In Hell, Robbie suspected he’d have company, even if it wasn’t the company he would choose to keep.  Here he was on his own.  And, anyway, Robbie didn’t believe in Hell.  To accept Hell existed meant acknowledging Heaven, which meant acknowledging God.  God had fled last December, taking the love and light of his life with him.  God could go to Hell.

He grabbed for the brandy glass, only to succeed in dashing it to the floor.

“Fuck.”

It was the last glass – the kitchen had been packed away yesterday… was it yesterday, or the day before?  It didn’t matter.  It wasn’t as though he was eating – and he was pretty sure he’d left the bottle on the bathroom vanity.  Probably the best place for it really.  If he smashed that he’d have to go out for more and he couldn’t do that because they had taken his car off him yesterday.  Sorry, they’d said, Chas Knox needs it. 

With a hand that trembled only slightly – Robbie had learned to hide the shake which came with too much brandy – he picked up the single page letter which had triggered the dismantling and burial of his former life.

_Successful applicant.  British Virgin Islands.  Road Town, Tortola.  Two years with possibility of extension._

Bloody Strange.  It had been all his idea.  “Perhaps getting away from Oxford, and keeping busy, will help, Robbie,” he’d said kindly.  Robbie hadn’t expected to get the secondment.  He’d been the oldest applicant, and no doubt the least sober, he thought; Strange must have called in every favour and debt.  To get Robbie out of his sight, or to genuinely help him?  Strange had announced his retirement before the ink was dry on Robbie’s paperwork, and Robbie had felt as though he was being cast to the wind.  He crumpled the letter in his fist and dropped it on the bed.  Throwing it was pointless as it always found its way back, a little more creased and worn each time.

He’d tried to work out the best way to tell Lyn.  Mark had taken off six months earlier without warning.  The first either Robbie or Lyn had known was when Mark had phoned them in the wee small hours of the morning after arriving in Sydney.  Lyn had been shattered by what she saw as Mark’s desertion of them at a time when they needed each other.  Robbie hadn’t wanted to hurt her again.

Then Lyn had told him she was moving to Manchester, and he couldn’t work out if he was upset, angry, or relieved.  He told her then.  And he’d hurt her anyway.  He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing his eyes could block out the memory of her face.

“The Caribbean?  It might as well be bloody Australia with Mark!  Why, dad?  Why so far?”

“It’s work, love.  Two years.  I’ll be back.”

“Will you come home for your holidays – you’ll get holidays, won’t you?”

“Aye, I will.  I don’t know if I’ll take ‘em, though.  As for comin’ home…”

“You can’t work two years without a break.”

“An’ I can’t keep living like I am.  Seein’ your mam’s face everywhere I turn, hearing her voice.”  He’d nearly broken down and cried in front of Lyn then.  And she’d seen it.  She’d wrapped her arms around him and soothed him the way he and Val had done for her and Mark when they were small.

“I’m sorry, dad,” she’d whispered.  “What can I do to help?”

“Don’t know, pet.  Don’t quite know what I need to do meself.”

“What will you do with the house?” she’d asked quietly.

“Sell it.”

“Oh.”

“Been thinking about it for a while now.  Too many memories here, love.  And it’s too big for one.”

Lyn had stayed silent for a while.  “Do you want me to help you pack?”

“Won’t you have enough to do to get yourself up to Manchester?  I’ll be all right, love.  I’ll contact the company that sold Morse’s place.  They’ll take care of everything.”

And with that, the biggest decision had been made.  Now only the bedroom remained to be boxed away, and with it, the last traces of his beloved Val.

Apart from a few sentimental pieces, most of the furniture was going to charity, and a van was coming the day after tomorrow.  He had two bedside tables, a chest of drawers, and the wardrobe to clear out, and he was done.

With a grunt, Robbie half rolled off the bed and to his feet.  He staggered a little when he remembered the broken glass.  He bent down to pick up the pieces.

“Bugger this,” he muttered.  He grabbed the corners of the bedside rug and pushed the whole thing into a box he was using as a bin.  It would have been no use to charity anyway; it was covered in brandy stains.  That hadn’t been the first glass spilled or broken on it.

Robbie made short work of the chest of drawers and wardrobe.  Only his clothes remained, as Lyn had gone through and removed all her mam’s clothes after the funeral, and what he had he bundled into two suitcases.  He’d worry about creases later.  Robbie had also given Lyn Val’s jewellery box as that had been the one thing he knew Val would have wanted.

He cleared his own bedside table by pulling out the drawer and tipping its contents into the emptiest suitcase.  When he came to Val’s bedside table he stopped.  Except for one instance before the funeral, he hadn’t touched it, and hadn’t allowed anyone else to either.  The book she’d been reading sat on top, a tattered bookmark faithfully awaiting the reader’s return.  Her glasses case sat beside it.  All of its contents exactly as they were on that awful day.

Trembling, Robbie sat on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer.  A bottle of Mystique Noir lay on its side.  Robbie sprayed some against the back of his hand and inhaled deeply.  Lyn had bought her that, and Val had kept it for special occasions and outings.  She’d been wearing it on the day…  Robbie placed it on the bed beside him.  He’d keep that.

He went through the items one by one, sometimes puzzled, sometimes amused by what he found.  He made two piles: items on the bed, he’d take with him; everything else could go into storage until he got back.  Only the obvious rubbish, like the small packet of tissues he found, would be discarded.

In the end, he had the perfume, a scarf, and a brooch set aside to pack.

He pulled the drawer out completely and was puzzled by a soft clunk.  He peered into the cavity and saw an envelope.  It must have been pushed over the back edge of the drawer and become wedged.  He pulled it out, assuming it was an old greeting card or letter.  A single word, Robbie, was marked on the outside.  He’d know Val’s handwriting anywhere

He turned the envelope in his hands and gently felt it all over.  It contained something small, hard, and round.

He tore off the end of the envelope and tipped it up.  His wedding ring rolled onto his palm.  Robbie hung his head and tried not to weep; he’d thought it long lost.  He hadn’t worn it for many years, not since Val had pleaded with him to take it off whenever he was on duty.  She’d read about an accident where a factory worker had lost a finger when a ring they were wearing had caught on their machine.  It was better to be safe than sorry, Val had said.  He didn’t always remember to put it on when he was off duty, and once he was in CID he stopped wearing it altogether, as he often never knew when he’d suddenly be called out. 

Val had understood, and had never pressed him to wear it.  She’d promised to keep it safe for him, and that was all Robbie had needed to know.

After she’d been ripped from them, Robbie had sent Lyn and Mark to stay with their grandparents and he searched the house for his ring, his bond of love to Val.  He’d been devastated when he couldn’t find it.  He’d gone through the jewellery box twice, and he’d looked in the bedside table, but had somehow missed the envelope.  If he hadn’t taken the secondment, and been in the position where he had to clear out his home, God only knows when he would have found it.

Perhaps this was a sign that things were changing, that fate was shining kindly on him.  He felt a little brighter towards his imminent departure; not bright, not happy, but brighter.

Robbie slipped the ring on.  He’d dropped a bit of weight over the past couple of years, so it was no surprise when it fitted easily.  He held his hand to his heart and finally let the tears flow.  He would be an ocean away, but his beloved Val would be with him always.

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by the fact we see Robbie wearing a wedding band in the very first episode of Lewis (but never afterwards), though he never wore one in Inspector Morse (at least I can't recall seeing him wear one).
> 
> Title taken from [_Interim_](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/interim/) by Edna St Vincent Millay. Thank you to paperscribe who introduced me to the poem after beta reading the story.


End file.
